A different kind of hero
by De Harris
Summary: In a world filled with spandex and powers, one new hero stands out among the rest


A Different Kind of Hero

What started out as an interview, became something more

In a city full of hero's, there are many. But today I have with me one hero, who is not like the rest. He is what I call, a different kind of hero. When first asked what a superhero is, one would think of colorful spandex tights, big muscles or slim body, handsome or beautiful, always doing justice by stopping some world ending event. Face it, the usual stereotype of a hero is someone who is lifting a bus off of an old lady or stopping a bank full of robbers armed to the teeth with automatic rifles with his or her bare hands. That's what I thought also, but after this interview…my mind is open.

It wasn't him who sought me out to tell his story to the world, as most would be super heroes do these days. They figure if they can get their story into the paragon times they may make a name for themselves. But not this one…it was I who sought him out. Everyday you hear on the streets or on the news, from some pedestrian who is poorly seeking attention from any audience, of some hero that saved the day, its not uncommon here in Galaxy city. But its not those people that one should listen to, the people that seek out their few minutes of fame. No, it's the people that don't broadcast, the people that are quiet. Those that are happy that they have what they have and leave it at that. Its theme that people need to listen too.

You could say im rambling on, but you cant jump headlong into the climax without some kind of beginning.

I first heard of the rumors the day that a hero stopped a bomb from leveling one of the many banks in Steel Canyon. The hero had already taken off, looking for more wrongs to right, but there was still plenty of commotion at the bank. Its our jobs to interview who we can so we can get a story, but all the ramblings of excited pedestrians makes it hard to separate the truth from exaggeration. I had just walked away from a woman who exclaimed that the 7 foot tall hero threw the robbers through the window after ripping off the vault door to get to the bomb...anyone who had eyes could look inside and clearly see that the door was still intact. I walked up to a hotdog vendor to grab a bite to eat, the vendor wasn't even paying attention to the crowd behind me, but was more lost in her own thoughts. I started to wonder if she even noticed the large crowd of police and civilians accumulating across the street, cause it looked as if she didn't even notice me. I waved a hand in front of her and she seemed to come back to reality and notice me.

"Im sorry sir!" She said with exclamation,

She hurriedly reached into her little metal cart to pull out a steaming hotdog. As she put it into the bun, I asked her if she was thinking about what happened across the street. She looked over, and an authentic look of surprise came over her face. Then looked at me and asked what happened. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or wonder if this was a mentally unstable person serving me food. I explained to her what happened, but it was as if she was lost in her mind again. There was a moment of silence between us, she still had my hotdog in her hand and I didn't want to just grab it from her. She came back eventually and continued with the toppings. I asked her what happened to distract her from it. She kind of stopped in mid topping and looked at me. Something had happened to this woman, something that doesn't happen to most people on a regular bases. She eyed my journalist badge, shook her head and said nothing. As she handed me my food, I handed her a 50 and said

"Off the record." With a gesture like that, most would be insulted. Thinking I could bribe them or pay them off like I need their help…but the truth was…I didn't have anything smaller. But it was a ploy I used to try and find out what happened, either she takes it and I leave with a lead on a story, or she doesn't and I leave with a hotdog and some change. She looked back at the bank and closed her hand.

"I took this job to help my mother pay the bills. Its not much, but its enough to get us through the months. I had the late shift yesterday and didn't get off until midnight. I don't live far, but it is enough if trouble was to find me. I had to get home as quick as possible, sister needed watching. I took a route between a couple of buildings that I never took before. It turned out to be a dead end, but I realized I wasn't alone in that alley. Three men approached from behind me, wearing these grey jackets with skull masks over their faces. I tried to get by but they just pushed me back, I had no where to run to. One grabbed my purse while the other two grabbed my arms, after rummaging through my belongings and pocketing what few measly dollars I had, he approached me. A knife came from his pocket as he stepped closer to me, I was so scared, but I was hoping that some hero would show up and save me, that I would actually see one help me…but one never came. He put the knife to my cheek, I screamed, I screamed and screamed. But no one came, no hero came in to help, not even a pedestrian. I tried to scream again but the man with the knife backhanded me and told me to keep quiet, or he would do things with that knife that he doesn't want to. I sobbed quietly as he moved the blade down my shirt and back up lifting it with the tip. Before he could lift it all the way, a noise came from behind. I thought it was my hero come to save me, to take these bad men away from me, to let me see my family again. The three looked as I tried to turn my head, wanting to see a flash of colors or a swirling cape. But there was none, just an old dirty cat that knocked a can over. The men laughed and I looked down and sobbed quietly."

The hotdog was still in my hand as I listened to every word, she looked down for a moment. The people around the bank had finally scuttled away as the last of the reporters drove away in their vans. She continued…

"The man with the knife let out some kind of joyous comment about it not being a cape, or something like that. But as he looked back at me several things happened at once. A rush of wind, a dull thunk, a groan sounded followed by a loud thump, and the knife wielder was on the ground, out cold. His skull mask was cracked on the side, a brick that wasn't there before lay not to far off. The two men holding me, both threw me aside and rushed forward towards their friend on the ground. I scooted back against a wall while they looked around. I saw movement in the darkness behind them, but didn't say anything. As quick as a shadow it moved on them, loud thunks were heard as punches and kicks were thrown. I just buried my face in my arms not sure of what was happening. When the silence stopped I looked up again. The two other men were laid out on the ground, but there was a third person standing in the darkness looking at them. He glanced towards me and moved slowly to my feet reaching out a hand. Warily I took it and he carefully stood me up, now that we were close I could make him out with what little light from the street. It wasn't a man or woman in a colorful costume, or some kind of robot or alien. No…this was more of a teenager, dressed in a hoody with the hood up, jeans and a bandana over his face and sunglasses over his eyes. He nodded his head towards the alley entrance and told me to go home. I was so happy to see my mother when I got home, she asked me what happened, I just told her an angel saved me."

I left with a cold hotdog and an empty wallet

For the next following days I followed on rumors of this individual, he peeked my interest. Wasn't seeking fame or the spotlight, just helping people that needed help. More rumors and whispers followed, of individuals saved by some teen in a hoody. I got all of these rumors, but nothing solid to follow on. I was on the verge of giving up until today. When I arrived at my little apartment in Galaxy city, I turned the lights on to find someone sitting at my kitchen table. I was surprised at first, thinking it was a criminal who broke in. But I looked at this person, and I realized that it was the hoody I was looking for. I slowly walked towards the table, he just looked ahead without moving. As I stood in front of him, he looked up and spoke.

"Been asking a lot about me, why not just ask me what you want and leave the people alone."

Now we are where we started, this man granted me an audience with him for a brief moment. Told me whether or not I published this was my option, but I have to stop asking about him.

"Well from what I heard," I began quickly, I pressed the record button on a tape player I had and stacked some extra cassettes next to it. I sat across from him and he just looked at me without averting his gaze. "I heard that you are a new superhero, do you have a title of some kind?" He just stared at me, not saying anything. "What drove you to become a superhero? What is your motivation to fight crime?" Again, he just stared at me. I was going to just give up when he asked me a question.

"Do you know what that means?" I was a little caught of guard, usually I ask the questions.

"Do I know what, what means?"

"Superhero." He said "Do you know what that means?"

"A superhero is…someone who…stops bombs. Not just small ones…but big ones! That…stop a runaway train from going into the water…or who prevent the…I suppose the term is "Super villains", from conquering the world."

"Are you sure." he said. I just looked at him confused. "If that is what a superhero is, then what about the men and women of our law enforcement? Our military? Fire department? Doctors? They save lives everyday and stop criminals in their own way. Yet it's the fools who run around in colorful outfits and with fancy gadgets that make the front pages, those are the people that everyone recognize as saviors and the heroes. But not the civilians that dress in different uniforms, those that give their lives everyday for freedom, those that save the lives of the little children in car accidents, or rescue the elderly from a burning building. Their not hero's…their just doing their job. I ask you again…what is a superhero?"

There was silence that passed between us as he just sat and looked at me. I tried to answer his question.

"A superhero is a life saver, anyone that can make a difference, big or small in another persons life.

Another moment of silence

"That…dear reporter. Is the exact definition of a superhero,"

This interview was going nowhere real fast. I was learning nothing about this guy, other than he likes talking through a dirty bandana. But before I said anything, he spoke again.

"What is it you see in the papers that you write to? The articles that stand out?" I was going to answer but it turned out being a rhetorical question

"You see how the famous capes are out there stopping the disasters that could doom all mankind, how they fight for the lives of everyone alive. But what do you see when you dig deeper into those pages, all of the little articles no one pays attention too anymore. How the less glamorous crime on the streets grow, how there are still individual murders everyday, rapes, beatings…all that could have been avoided is someone cared enough to pay attention. You have been around this city, hounding the people that I have "saved". Where were the hero's then? Where was the caped vigilantly that could have stopped the three skulls from possibly killing the hotdog vendor? The spandex wearing woman who could have helped the elderly woman from being mugged? Or the masked hero that should have stopped the group of teenagers from committing a hate crime against that poor Islamic child?"

I then pointed out that he wears a mask. He then made a gesture towards his face. "What this?" he asked pointing. "Have you ever been pepper sprayed before? Or had some chemicals thrown in your face? Its not pleasant…these just minimize the risk." He then pulls down the hoody under his chin and removes his sunglasses. There was nothing special about his facial features. No strong chin, or deep dark eyes, or scars that tell of hard battles. Its just the face of an average person.

"Well..." I start off, I want to try to turn this interview around so that I am in control again. "So your saying that the guys with the powers and gadgets that do what they do really aren't heroes?" He looks at me coldly.

"If your going to turn my words around on me, I am going to leave." I said nothing, just sat back in my

chair. "I never said that those guys and girls aren't heroes. But that everyone needs to broaden their horizon a bit on the definition.

A pause, perhaps him waiting on me?

"Well then," I start, I was struggling to come up with a good question, but trying to play it off. "What about that small crimes that you mentioned, are they not heroes for not being able to get to those?"

Again I receive a cold look, he gets up and leans on the table towards me, "Do you consider a young woman being raped and beaten to the point of death, a small crime? Or how about the cracked out parents that make their five year olds beg on the streets for money so they can dope up again? Is that a small crime?" I look down, he had a point and I felt like a dick. When I glanced up he was sitting again.

"Now about those **crimes**," He put some emphases on the word, "Alls I say is that there are heroes who are so full of themselves, that they do this just for the fame and glamour. They don't raise a finger to the, as you say "small" crimes unless their picture is posted in your paper. I am tired of those people that do it for just that. Isn't the satisfactory feeling of saving some ones life or knowing that you have made a difference to an individual enough? I once asked some spandex wearing individual if the lives that were lost while he looked for the next world ending catastrophe worth it, he just scoffed and flew away."

I was starting to get so wrapped up in what he was saying that I didn't even notice that he was tapping his finger next to the recorder, I needed to switch tapes. After it was put in I asked him to continue.

"You look at most of the heroes these day flying around Paragon, do you ever wonder where they came from? What it was that made them unique and why they do what they do? Of course you do, you're a reporter. But outside of the paper, off the record. The guy who can freeze a Hellion in his place with his hands, do you wonder where he came from? Did he grow up on the streets, fending for himself? Watching as the place he lived in rotted day by day until there was nothing left but crime and vandal? Did he sit on the steps to the condemned building he called home, and wonder why some super fast entity or person could just use their powers to return the neighborhood to its former self?"

"They probably didn't, most likely its just some freak accident that happened to an individual with a lot of money or at some job, and they instantly go out and do what every other hero in this place does. Now don't label me the hero hater, I don't hate them, except for those that do it just for the fame. I respect them for what help they contribute to even for the wrong reasons, but its not them I hate. Their not the reason that I fight the muggers and rapists, the spouse abusers and pimps. It's the people that love them for not fighting them. The people that label the spandex wearers the heroes instead of the badge wearers. Because its them that fuel the fire under the heroes in paragon to fight the bigger crimes rather than the petty ones. You asked me in the beginning why I do what I do." He got up and walked towards the door, as he opened it he turned around and looked at me,

"I do it because I want to give hope to the people that cry out in the night for a hero to save them…but never come."


End file.
